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Gaze round the lonely place and see Its silence and obscurity: Then commune with thine heart, and say These are the foot-prints of decay,— And I, even thus shall pass away.

And turn'd him to depart, With darken'd brow and heavy heart. Can outrage or can time remove The sting, the scar of slighted love? He could not look upon the scene And not remember , Fair queen of gone festivity,— Oh, where was it, and where was she!

At distance short a village lay, And thither took his way,